


An Explanation

by jaradel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Past Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaradel/pseuds/jaradel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a suspicious death, Sally Donovan finds that there's another mystery she wants to solve. She turns to Lestrade for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Explanation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Challenge 5](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com/post/60963479493/for-this-challenge-we-wanted-to-combine-the) of [Let's Write Sherlock](http://letswritesherlock.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. The challenge required that the story focus on two or more minor canon characters from BBC Sherlock, and you had to use one of three prompts for the story. I chose the prompt "detectives in their own right". Unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine, and there may be plenty so please be kind.
> 
> Set during "The Hounds of Baskerville".

                At a building site in Southwark on a chilly spring morning, Sally Donovan walked over to her boss, Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade, and handed him a cup of coffee. The DI was watching the forensic investigation team, led by Anderson, examine the body of a recently – and suspiciously – deceased construction worker. Smiling in silent gratitude, Lestrade accepted the proffered cup from Sally and took a sip. “Got anything for me?” he asked.

                Sally took a sip of her own coffee, letting the heat from the cup warm her chilled hands. “Victim’s name is Marcus Lowry, 32, lives in a council flat in Croydon, unmarried. Cause of death appears to be the result of falling approximately 30 feet from that scaffolding over there,” she said, pointing at the scaffolding in question, “but Anderson thinks he might have been dead before he hit the ground.”

                Lestrade made no comment as he continued to sip his coffee, seemingly content to watch the forensics team gather evidence. “So, not calling the freak in on this one?” Sally quipped, trying but failing to keep her tone light.

                “’The freak’ has a name, Donovan,” Lestrade answered, an edge to his voice.

                “Yes, sir. So you’re not calling _Holmes_ in on this one?” she rephrased.

                “Nah, I think we’ve got it covered. Besides, he texted me yesterday to tell me that he and Dr Watson were going to Dartmoor to work a case for a private client.”

                “Right,” Sally muttered. _Of course, because if the freak were in town, he’d have known about this before we did_. Lestrade glanced at her sideways, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, then walked over to where Anderson was crouched next to the body and exchanged a few words with him. He straightened up and started walking to the car, motioning for Sally to join him. She jogged a short distance before falling in beside Lestrade. Sally could feel a palpable tension between her and her boss, but damned if she was going to be the first to speak. They got into the car and pulled out of the building site, onto the main road.

                Lestrade broke the silence first. “If you’ve got something to say, Sergeant, spit it out,” he growled.

                _Right, well, no sense putting off the inevitable._ “Why _do_ you always ask Holmes for help? Don’t you trust us to do our jobs?” she asked, indignance creeping into her question despite her best efforts to keep her voice neutral.

                Lestrade sighed, his hands tightening on the wheel ever so slightly, just enough that Sally noticed. When he didn’t answer right away, she thought that he was ignoring the question altogether, but then he pulled the car over to the kerb and parked it. When he turned to look at her, his face was an unreadable mask. “Let me ask you a question, first,” he said. “Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious, or because you want to have yet another go at him?”

                Sally set her jaw and gathered her wits. “I want to know,” she began carefully, “because every time you ask him and Watson to come to a crime scene, you’re basically saying that the rest of us aren’t doing our jobs properly. It’s an insult, sir, and if I am going to continue to work with you, then I need to know why you trust him more than you trust me, or the rest of the team.”

                Lestrade’s expression softened fractionally. “You do realize that every time I call them in to consult, I’m also admitting that I couldn’t figure it out either, right?” he said quietly.

                Sally paused to consider what he said. “But… why? I mean, yes, I get that he’s extremely smart, and has a near-encyclopaedic knowledge of chemistry and forensic science, but he’s rude, childish, insulting, tactless, and near impossible to work with. Why put up with him?”

                Lestrade smiled then, a small, wry grin tinged with sadness. “You see exactly what he wants you to see – the childish, arrogant, self-important prick. You haven’t seen him the way I’ve seen him, the way I met him six years ago, barely out of university, on his own, and lost, for lack of a better word. I was a detective sergeant, at the crime scene of an apparent suicide when this tall, skinny, mop-haired kid who looked like he’d spent the night in a skip came up, and without even so much as a how-do-you-do started pointing out all these details about the body and the ground around it that _no one_ had seen. Sally, it was amazing – and he was absolutely bloody right about all of it. I didn’t even get his name, he brain-dumped what he saw and was gone before I could say anything. But I remembered what he said, wrote down as much of it as I could, and sure enough, that suicide was actually a murder – and without those key details, we never would have caught the murderer.”

                “So that was the first time. But you said he just disappeared – obviously you ran into him again, right?”

                Sally watched as the dark cloud of a bad memory passed over Lestrade’s eyes. He looked away. “The next time I found him he’d been beaten to a pulp in an alley a few blocks from the Yard. I took him to A&E, and that’s when I found out he’d been beaten up while trying to buy drugs. Apparently he didn’t have enough to pay for it and they took the rest out of his hide. But even high as a kite and beaten within an inch of his life, he gave me enough detail on his attackers that we were able to catch not only the thugs who beat him up, but the whole operation. His brother got him into rehab shortly after that, and I didn’t see him again for another two years.”

                “So the drugs bust, that wasn’t just an excuse to get into his flat that night, then,” she mused.

                “Well, it was, in that instance, but after he got clean his brother contacted me. His brother’s some sort of government official, I don’t know exactly what he does, but whatever it is gave him enough access to find me and pay me a visit. He asked me for a favour – and you have to understand, that as cold as Sherlock seems to be, his brother is _much_ colder and even more aloof, so for this man to ask a complete stranger for a favour – well, I could tell this was costing him a lot personally. He asked me to keep an eye on Sherlock, check on him now and then, make sure he didn’t relapse. Even offered me money, but I refused him. Sherlock was abrasive, sure, but he was smart, and clearly lacking anyone else in his life who gave a damn about him, and in spite of the kid being a tactless prick, I liked him. I wasn’t about to let anyone _pay_ me to keep an eye on him. At that time he was living in a hovel of a basement flat on Montague Street – really, I’m surprised the landlord was able to let it, it certainly wasn’t up to code – and of course, the first time I dropped by to check on him he knew his brother had put me up to it. Needless to say it wasn’t a long visit. But I wasn’t about to give up, so the next time I came ‘round I brought a couple of cold case files – figured he might take an interest in them, and that would give me time to look around and make sure he wasn’t getting into anything. Well, he saw right through that too, but it didn’t stop him from looking at the files and solving the cases anyway. Christ, it was amazing to hear his thought process. He’d walk me through his deductions, show me the relevant pieces of evidence that were overlooked, and gave me enough information to fill out the reports without ever mentioning him – in fact, he insisted on not being mentioned. Wasn’t in it for the notoriety, he said – he just liked solving puzzles, the stranger the better. And then he made me a deal – said he’d stay away from the drugs if I brought him more cases to solve.”

                Lestrade paused again, catching his breath. Sally was pretty certain she’d never heard him talk this much, ever. “So – did he? Stay away from the drugs?” she asked quietly.

                “Yeah, he did. For a while.”

                “What happened?”

                Lestrade hesitated. “Look, Sherlock’s a private guy. I’m not going to air his dirty laundry because you need justification for his involvement in our investigations. But something bad happened, and I hadn’t been able to come ‘round in a while, and, long story short, his brother found him on the floor of his flat, strung out and dying from a bad hit. Holy hell did I get an earful from that pompous git –‘how could you let this happen, you were supposed to keep an eye on him’ – the whole bit. We got into it, actually, because I was pretty angry that he’d basically left the welfare of his little brother up to a complete stranger, and we exchanged some pretty harsh words before he finally backed down a bit and explained some things about his and Sherlock’s past – again, things I’m _not_ going to share with you. Anyway, we cleared the air, and made an agreement that we would work together to keep an eye on the kid. But we were lucky, too, because apparently Sherlock’s near-death experience scared him enough that he hasn’t touched anything since – nothing stronger than cigarettes and the occasional drink, that is. Nothing illegal. Didn’t even need to bribe him with cold cases, he decided that he was done with drugs, and that was that.”

                “How long ago was that?” Sally asked, almost afraid of the answer.

                “Oh, about three months before the serial suicides. Before he moved to Baker Street and started sharing with Dr Watson.”

                Sally let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Bloody hell,” she breathed. “So that’s why you keep him around, part of a deal with his brother to keep him off drugs. A charity case.”

                Lestrade’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s what you think, Donovan, then you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. People like Sherlock – they're rare, and special, and largely underappreciated. All the great geniuses are. And so many of them burn out so young. History is littered with the corpses of incredible geniuses who were lonely and misunderstood, who lived fucked-up lives and died young. Writers, musicians, scientists… Sherlock is just like them, and he was well on his way to permanent self-destruction. Really, Dr Watson couldn’t have come into his life at a better time. When I first met the guy he didn’t seem very noteworthy, but I see now why Sherlock likes him. They _fit_ , somehow – and not in _that_ way, so get your mind out of the gutter. They’re like puzzle pieces, they each have something the other needs, and it just works. So yeah, I don’t have to keep an eye on him the way I used to, but I’d be a fool not to consult him on the weirder cases.” Lestrade cleared his throat and levelled his gaze at Sally. “You’re a good detective, Donovan. We all are, and I’m not blowing sunshine up anyone’s arse saying that. But what Sherlock does – I don’t know how to describe it. He sees patterns and connections that _no one_ else sees, except maybe his brother. It’s something way beyond the normal skills of criminology and forensics. I hope one day that I can see even half of what he sees at a crime scene, and I’ve been doing this for twenty years! So don’t take his involvement as a personal attack on your skills. Do what I do – watch and learn. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been doing this job, Sally, there is _always_ something new to learn. The most important lessons aren’t in a classroom or at a conference or a seminar, and the best teachers are often the people you’d least expect.”

                “Yes, sir,” she said, with more of an edge to her words than was strictly necessary.

                “Look, you don’t have to like him. I won’t ask for the impossible. But I will tell you this: I expect you to be professional. No more name-calling. You don’t have to be his pal, but you do have to treat him like a human being. I’ve let you and Anderson get away with insulting him far more than I should, and while you may think it doesn’t matter to him, I know better. And don’t try to tell me that he insults you too, because I know for a fact that the only time he does is when he’s repeatedly taken a barrage from you or Anderson first. Be a grown-up, Sally.” With that, Lestrade started the car and pulled back out into traffic.

                Sally considered Lestrade’s words on the way back to the Yard. Even after they parked in the car park and walked into the building, she said nothing, still pondering what Lestrade had said. No, she and Holmes weren’t ever going to be friends, but she could try to be more polite, at least. Sitting at her desk, she resolved to pay more attention to Holmes' deductions and try not to let his abrasive personality get to her. _Try_ being the operative word.

                Not long after they got back to the Yard, Lestrade called her into his office. “Sir?” she inquired at the door.

                Lestrade was already pulling on his jacket and grabbing his phone. “Listen, something’s come up and I have to go out of town for a day or two. I need you to take the lead on the Southwark investigation,” he said as he picked up the file from his desk and handed it to her.

                “Will do, sir,” Sally said crisply, taking the file and going back to her desk.


End file.
